


1946 News Article

by WildClover27 (PrairieFlower)



Category: Garrison's Gorillas
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-26 01:31:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20921939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrairieFlower/pseuds/WildClover27
Summary: A short work from a challenge many years ago about what happened to Lt. Garrison and his men after the war. My original characters, named Terry Garrison and Christine Garrison, are my own work and I do not expect to find them in someone else's stories.





	1946 News Article

**Author's Note:**

> A short work from a challenge many years ago about what happened to Lt. Garrison and his men after the war. My original characters, named Terry Garrison and Christine Garrison, are my own work and I do not expect to find them in someone else's stories.

George Brown sat at the back booth of the Cut Bank Café where he had a good view of the door. There were a couple of the regulars from town at the counter and an old couple from two blocks away at one of the middle tables. He was early as usual; it gave him an advantage to see what frame of mind his interviewees were in before he started talking with them. It also gave him a chance to review in his mind what he already knew about the people he would be meeting. 

The Garrisons were an interesting bunch, especially after returning from the war. He had gone to ball games and rodeos with the eldest boy before Craig had gone off to West Point like his old man. The man who had returned from the war was more somber, possibly because he had lost a sister under mysterious circumstances. George knew that Craig has led a Special Forces team, but nothing was forthcoming about that team. “Classified information” he had been told. Christine had come home with an Indian husband. Rainey Sands was a quiet man who kept to himself. The other man to arrive home with them was Charlie Coletti. Now he was interesting. He talked a mix of street Chicago and New York, had a short fuse, and didn’t seem trustful of anyone but the family he had married into. This was Terry Garrison’s widower. Rumor had it both men had prison records. George would have loved to hear the story behind this group but knew that wasn’t about to happen. He would have also liked to hear the reason Craig Garrison had given up being career Army and settled down instead to run the Bar G ranch.

GGGGG

Lt. Col. Craig Garrison, clad in jeans, boots, checkered shirt, and stained sheepskin jacket, found himself sitting in a booth at the Cut Bank Café, contemplating his mug of coffee and wishing he had not agreed to this interview for the Cut Bank Press. A battered Stetson lay on its crown on the seat of the chair beside him. The smell of strong real coffee should have lifted his spirits but didn’t. His sister, Christine, had talked him into this interview by pointing out there were enough rumors and speculations about the two men they had brought back to the ranch with them after the war and maybe giving their widespread neighbors a little bit of carefully guarded truth, might settle things down. More than likely stir them up, thought Craig cynically. His face took on an easy, friendly smile as he looked across the scarred wooden tabletop at the openly friendly countenance of George Brown. He had known George before the war, and summed the man up as being nothing more than he professed; a likable man in search of a human-interest story for his neighbors and readers. 

“Well, Col. Garrison,” began George, setting the professional tone of this meeting, “as you know the Press has already run an article on your neighbor Col. Gallagher’s experiences during the War.”

Garrison nodded. “My family enjoyed that story. Very accurate and insightful. I’m not sure how interesting an article you expect to write on me. You know my men and I were Special Forces. What we did and where we did it is still classified information and I can’t discuss it.”

George nodded his blond head and pushed his glasses back up in an unconscious gesture that served his eyesight and gave him a moment to gather himself. “I was thinking in this article you could tell us something about one of the men you worked with, on a personal basis, and how meeting this person may have affected your life.”

The smile on Garrison’s face became genuine now as he thought about the man he was going to speak of. “The oldest member of our team was Frank DeMarco,” he said, using one of the man’s many aliases. “Good-looking man . . . had a very aristocratic bearing. He was born in Italy and came to this country during the 1930s on a business venture. He liked the opportunities that America had to offer over his native country and ended up residing here and gaining his citizenship. Frank was a very intelligent man . . . extremely knowledgeable on a wide variety of subjects. He spoke five languages fluently and could hold conversations in a great many more.”

“Can I ask how he came to join your group?” asked George cautiously, pencil poised over the writing tablet he was taking notes on.

Craig took a sip of the steaming coffee, now relishing the flavor of real coffee beans. “DeMarco was well known in certain circles. His expertise in languages and his knowledge of Europe and the way of life there came to the attention of the Army. They approached him with an offer to use his knowledge and abilities to help his newly adopted country and fight the German tyranny that would eventually even threaten his native homeland. He found his venture at that time a bit too confining and was eager to join our group to return to Europe and aid in combating the Nazi regime. Anything more specific I can’t get into.”

George nodded. “I understand, Colonel.” He turned a questioning look at the rancher sitting across from him. “How did knowing this man affect you?”

Craig smiled again. “I learned a lot from him. As I said, a very knowledgeable man, and very willing teacher. He taught me a lot about European history, art, languages, the people themselves . . . He was a mentor in some ways. By the end of the war, he had become a friend.”

“You speak of him in the past tense,” probed George. “He didn’t survive the war?”

“Oh, he survived,” said Garrison. “We still keep in touch by mail.”

“And what is he doing now? Can I ask that?”

Craig nodded. “He returned to Italy after the war. He’s working for a branch of the Italian government and freelances all over Europe. I don’t know if you are aware that Hitler was collecting as many of the arts and treasures of the other European countries as he could for his proposed national museum. Also, Herman Goering had his own private collection of arts and treasures. We’re talking hundreds of thousands of art pieces. DeMarco is helping to locate these stolen items and return them, if not to their rightful owners as many of those people are dead, then to the countries of their origins. He also consults on restoration of the damaged historical sites, churches and cathedrals and museums all over the Continent.”

“Sounds like a daunting task,” said George.

“Yeah,” smiled Garrison. “I imagine it will keep him out of trouble for awhile.” Craig grinned inwardly at that thought. “I don’t know,” he said humbly. “Can you make anything interesting for the folks out of this?”

“Oh, probably.”

From that point, they dropped the formality and began talking about the weather, cattle prices, the high school football team and other topics common to the people in that area.


End file.
